Chapter Eleven #2
Gerard was off to speak to the bishop, and would then return to the Golden Adonis to be with his intended bride.
Most of Allan’s other brothers had wives to return home with.
“Come along, younglings,” Allan said to Isaac and Jerome.
“Let’s go to the lower tower. There are several trunks lying around, and I’m sure we can find more items that will be useful for you in your travels. ”
And Allan would take a look at the space available, and choose a room to stay in. It would save money to remain in the tower, and if he stayed in the lower rooms, behind the hidden door to the tower steps and with the hidden door to the top two floors locked and bolted, he’d be perfectly safe.
In fact, it would be remarkably satisfying to be on the marquess’s land but out of his reach.
By the time Melody joined the three remaining brothers, they had retrieved the luggage the youngest two would need—two large trunks to go in with the cargo and two cabin trunks that were fitted with drawers and partitions to carry what they needed for the trip and to be used as cabin furniture.
A third smaller trunk was large enough to take a traveling desk so the brothers could write home and also the cases with Jerome’s violin and Isaac’s flute.
Allan had found each brother a money belt to carry the bank notes he intended to fetch on the way to the wharf. Although the savings account holding the brothers’ earnings was at a bank the marquess didn’t use and under a name the marquess would not recognize, there was no point in taking chances.
The detritus that had ended up in these unused rooms also included several travel shaving sets and some maps of countries around the Mediterranean. Isaac and Jerome were making their choices when Mrs. Blackmore arrived.
“We’re just about to take these upstairs,” Allan said. “My brothers will soon be packed and ready to go.” He forced a smile. “What an adventure for them.”
“I am sorry I was away so long,” Mrs. Blackmore said, “but it is all arranged. You will need to go to the docks directly from the church tomorrow. You are sailing at ten in the morning on the Jamshid.”
It was really happening. Allan’s face was going to crack if he had to keep on smiling. “Let’s get these trunks to your rooms, then try to get some sleep. We’re still expected to work tonight, according to our agreement with Madam Hera.”
Of course, he didn’t expect Isaac and Jerome, excited as they were, to manage even a doze.
He certainly didn’t. His mind teemed with all the things that could go wrong, both before his youngest brothers embarked on their journey, and once the ship left London.
A long sea voyage in winter, a foreign land where they did not speak the language, thieves, rogues, pirates, diseases.
Perhaps Mrs. Blackmore was able to rest her lovely head on her pillow and drift off into the arms of Morpheus, but Allan spent more than an hour tossing and turning in a bed that felt more and more uncomfortable by the minute until finally he gave up.
He must have been the only one haunted by visions of disaster, for the other bed chamber doors were firmly shut. Perhaps he should move his personal possessions down to the lower tower.
Other items, too. The brothers had long since chosen furniture, as well as mattresses and pillows, from the lower rooms to furnish the two levels the marquess knew about.
Most of it could stay where it was, but there were a few items he’d like to keep secure from any rampage his lordship might instigate when he found them missing.
The living area he and his brothers had shared for so long looked strangely empty, though Allan tried to tell himself that it was the same every time the marquess’s henchmen visited, and the brothers cleared away anything they didn’t want the men to see. He could not convince himself.
Most of the brothers had removed their bits and pieces from the main room before they went to work last night.
Allan had noticed but had thought nothing of it.
Only when they had spoken to their respective brides did they drop their collective bombshell, but they must have been sure of the answer, for when he looked into their rooms, each of them had taken down any artwork from the walls or items from their shelves or drawers, packed a trunk or a box, and even stripped their bedclothes.
Zero, discomposed by the kerfuffle, had taken refuge on the wardrobe in Donald’s chamber. Allan hoped that Donald would be able to catch him when he returned to collect the rest of his things.
Frank’s chess set was no longer set up near their usual chairs. Cornelius had already moved all his personal possessions to the home of his aunts-in-law.
The travelers must have finished packing their own items, or at least taken them into their rooms, for the violin and flute were both gone, the harpsichord was shut in its box, and the box that held their sheet music had also disappeared.
Allan was going to be alone. So alone.
He couldn’t stand the gibbering wreck he wanted to turn into.
You will have your daughter and your brother-in-law, he told himself sternly.
Not yet, though. He could not risk the marquess finding them.
The plan called for him and those brothers who remained in London to take their battle with the old tyrant into the public eye, and the evil bastard would not hesitate to use Lydia as a weapon against Allan.
At least the eight of them would spend much of their time together—even Cornelius was determined to remain for the fight. His wife and her aunts agreed, Cornelius said. In fact, all the wives were indignant for their husbands’ sake, and determined to help.
As long as Allan could keep them out of the line of fire. Mrs. Blackmore thought the public nature of their planned offensive would be some sort of protection. Allan could not quite believe it.
If only he could talk Mrs. Blackmore out of being involved, but she argued that the fight was hers, too. That those close to her had suffered at the marquess’s hands. That her cousin’s long separation from Cornelius could be directly attributed to his wickedness.
She was correct. And if she was determined to oppose the man, surely she was safer doing so as part of his team. He shuddered to think of the risks she had taken, facing him alone, protected only by her disguise, her charm, and her subtle threats.
You could protect her even better if you married her. It was not the first time the thought had occurred to him. Melody. Even her name was appealing.
She won’t have me. While other women might chase him for his family and their fortune, Mrs. Blackmore—he was convinced—did not care about such things.
She, more than anyone, does not care about my empty rank, and she has every reason to hate my future title as much as I do.
As for Allan, the man, he was confident that Mrs. Blackmore was not impressed by him.
If anything, he annoyed her, though she schooled even that reaction in order to reach her goals.
Except that, now and then, he had seen a spark of very female interest—eyes that lingered, a slight flush, a huskiness in the voice. Could he…
He gazed down at the floor, imagining he could see through it to her door, and beyond the door to the bed upon which Mrs. Blackmore currently slept, curled around herself, snuggled into her pillow and her blankets as he had seen her this morning.
He whispered a question that expressed both his objective and his new plan. Could he seduce Mrs. Blackmore into being his wife?